I Want You To
by DrayMiaOnly
Summary: When your heart breaks it can grow back crooked; it can grow back twisted and gnarled and hard. *Dean/Sam* NC-17 Mind The Warnings Inside.
1. Tell Me The Truth

**A/N:** This was inspired... by something **JamesParker** _(dude? Let's just say you're my muse and get on with it, m'kay?)_ said to me on a PM (which I won't reveal in public cause I'm embarrassed by how my mind works; seriously, y'all would laugh your ass off -even though the fic is very_ very_ sad.  
><strong>AN 2:** This story is based on actual events (go easy on me in the reviews... please.)  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I don't own Dean and/or Sam (and for this particular fic, I'm very glad I don't...)  
><strong>Story Details: (you better read this)<strong> Pre-series and vague season 1. AU. John is missing, but not unjustifiably; before he left on a job with Bobby, John had sent Dean to Palo Alto, to act as Sam's invisible protector. Dean, whom had confessed to Sam that he had feelings for him, causing Sam to reject him and leave for Stanford, reluctantly complies to his father's orders. The story then falls alongside canon (YED attaches, murdering Jessica and almost killing Sam too, but Dean arrives in time to drag his brother out of his burning house.) After that, it's AU; Sam's on the road with Dean, both akwardly avoiding each other, while on the wait for instructions from John as to what to do next. Everything goes downhill when a distraught Sam reveals to Dean that he had also had feelings for him from before he left for college but the whole situation had been too much to handle...  
><strong>Warnings: <strong>(for all chapters) Angst like whoa! Profanity. Generically Dark Themes. Dub-Con. Sexual Abuse. Mild Bondage (of sorts). Violence. Graphic Masturbation. Graphic Dean/OFC. Eventual Wincest. Eventual Schmoop.

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><p>"Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us; and sometimes, they win." Stephen King<p>

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><p><em>Nashville, Tennessee<em>

Five weeks.

Five, unbearably long, weeks ago Dean had driven his beloved Impala as fast (and far) from California as humanly possible. Sam had been riding shotgun beside him, mostly in a catatonic state for the greater part of their route.

Four days ago the boys had skidded to a halt, and Dean, arms aching from putting miles and miles behind him all on his own (seen as Sam had been in no condition to drive,) had checked them into a motel -close to the border of Nashville.

Sam had locked himself in the bathroom of said motel ever since, without as much as a word to Dean. Dean had been left alone, to listen helplessly as his brother had sobbed and wailed and cried out Jessica's name and apologies non-stop. Dean had intensely pounded against the door, demanding to be let in, to no avail and to only cause Sam to mourn even more severely. After debating with himself, whether or not to break down the door that separated them and somehow console his brother, Dean had caved into staring at the walls around him in despair.

Sam finally emerged from his makeshift nest this morning, looking significantly more calm and composed, despite his blood rimmed eyes and sorrowful expression. He had even suggested at Dean (or, rather, at his nightstand -since Sam's eyes did eveything they could to avoid his brother's gaze) to go out and bring back some breakfast and some much needed coffee for the both of them.

Dean had agreed, grateful to be away from Sam for a while.

As soon as his younger brother had bolted out of the door, Dean had fumbled with his phone, impatiently typing Dad's number.

"_This is John Winchester. I can t be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son Dean. 785-555-0179. He can help._"

"C'mon, Dad. You're killing me here," Dean moaned frustrated as he snapped his phone shut.

Fed up with not knowing what to do, Dean headed for the bathroom to take a very much belated shower.

...

Dean was vigorously brushing his teeth, his body finally clean and dressed in fresh clothes, when he heard Sam's key turning in the lock of the motel's door. Dean spat toothpaste and saliva into the sink, before he shifted to his left, to steal a weary glance at Sam.

Well, at least Sam was looking at him. That was the first time in almost four years it had happened.

For a second both men paused and stared at each other.

Then Sam dropped his gaze and continued towards the table, where he disposed the bags he was carrying, sat and opened his laptop. Dean watched him out of his peripheral vision. He wondered if the younger man was as miserable as he was. He didn't look it. Sam wasn't smiling or anything, but he looked... great. Sam's eyes were still a bit puffy, but his clothes were perfectly clean, not one wrinkle in sight on his plain, black T-shirt or his ripped jeans, his long bangs falling casually against his forehead... ridiculously girlie, as always.

Dean's face almost flickered into a fond smile, but he managed to prevent it. How pathetic was he? Four years of avoidance and he was still hopelessly in love with his brother, as much as he ever had been. Dean turned, and faced the sink again, raising his head to stare at his reflexion inside the small mirror above it. Wouldn't it ever go away?

_"What do you mean?"_

_"I don't know, I just- I think I'm in love with you."_

_"Dean, if this is supposed to be a joke it's anything but funny!"_

_"Dude, I'm not shitting you! I want... damn, I wanna be with you all the time. It pisses me off when I have to go on a hunt with Dad. I miss you like crazy, not to mention I hate leaving you alone."_

_"You don't know what you're saying. This is incest; it's illegal!"_

_"I know, Sam! Fuck do I know it. But I don't care, as long as I have you nothing else-"_

_"I'm going to college."_

_"...What? No..."_

_"I... I'm leaving, Dean. I got accepted at Stanford. I have the chance to do something in my life."_

_"Sammy, don't do this."_

_"I'm sorry, I- This is it. This is my opportunity to have a normal life; I can't throw it away."_

_"Don't leave me."_

_"I- I can't."_

Dean gave up on trying to figure out if his messed up feelings would ever untangle themselves and reached for his towel to dry his face and hands. Behind him he heard the soft tapping noises Sam's fingers were producing, sliding against the laptop's keyboard.

Well, it was time for this almost-interaction to draw to a close. Dean snuck another half-look at Sam on the pretence of scanning the table for his keys, and then picked up his .45 from his nightstand and tucked it against the small of his back. Styrofoam cup in his hand, Dean murmured an uncertain "thank you" for the coffee, as he headed for the door -having no idea where he was going, only that he couldn't stay in such close quarters with Sam.

He had reached out his hand to pull the door open when he heard his name.

"Dean," Sam said.

For about a second, Dean thought he was having an auditory hallucination as he slowly turned on the spot to face his brother. Yes, Sam was looking at him. Directly at him. He had risen from his chair and it looked like he wanted to ask Dean something.

"Was it true? What you had said... back then."

There was probably only one thing Sam could mean by that, but Dean decided he needed clarification anyway. Obviously Sam didn't want to say the words out loud, so Dean would do it for him. "You mean about me being in love with you?"

Sam averted his gaze onto the floor briefly. "Yes," he muttered, "That."

Dean nodded. "Yeah," he said, looking at Sam, who was still staring downward, "I meant it."

Sam didn't say anything else for a long time, and Dean continued on his attempt of exiting, but as soon as his fingers met the handle of the door Sam spoke again.

"Is it _still_ true?" he asked.

Dean slowly turned around again wondering where this whole thing was heading. Sam was shyly looking up at him.

Dean scratched the back of his neck and nodded, "I don't think it's something that's gonna change anytime soon."

Sam nodded, and Dean waited a bit for him to say something else. When he didn't, Dean turned back around for the third time. He was about to leave when he decided to ask his own doorknob question. "Why are you asking?"

Sam sighed. "I've been thinking," he admitted, and for a second Dean felt a flutter of hope in his chest. "I'm sorry I didn't believe you, back then. I was..." he caught Dean's gaze and held it, "I... " Sam shrugged, "I just want us to be okay again."

Dean felt his heart pounding in his chest. Was this for real? Sam wanted to reconcile with him after all these years? After all that had happened between them? Dean wanted more than anything to hope, to hope he could have his Sammy in his life again, but he was hesitant. He took a few steps closer to Sam, studying him carefully. "And what about the fact that I'm in love with you?" Dean asked, his tone serious. "Doesn't it bother you?"

Sam shook his head. "It doesn't bother me, cause I think- No, I _know_... Dean, I- I'm in love with you too." Sam gave a heavy sigh that expelled a rush of air, and then he looked quickly up at Dean and started babbling, as though he needed to explain himself. "I think it's why I left in the first place. I had started to notice things; feeling things... that I was afraid to acknowledge, and then I went to college and I met Jessica and I started seeing her, trying to keep any thoughts of you repressed, cause I didn't know what was going on or what to do or what I wanted, but then I was missing you like crazy, and those feelings started dwelling on again, and then Yellow Eyes came and Jess was burning and I couldn't help her and I just wanted you _there_, and when you came and I saw you... I just wanted to run inside your arms and it terrified the crap out of me, and then I was depressed, because, honestly, Jessica was a great girl and none of this was her fault and she didn't deserve to die!" Sam sobbed at this point, tears, for the lovely blonde he had loved but hadn't been able to fall in love with, running down his cheeks as he hiccuped, "And I can't help but think that maybe if I had stayed with you, when you told me how you felt, Jessie would still be alive, and for the past few weeks I've been feeling so guilty for her death it almost got me sick, but, simultaneously, I couldn't ignore the fact that I'm with you again, and I... I've missed you _so_ bad, and all I want is to be with you." Sam finally ran out of either air or things to say, and he looked up at Dean with a terrified expression on his face, as though Dean would deny him; tell him that he didn't want him anymore.

Partially, Sam was right, since Dean, disregarding his impressive speech, became fixated on one thing; one small detail. "You said you didn't _believe_ me at first. What does that mean, exactly?" he asked.

"I... I didn't think you were serious," Sam explained, looking deflated that out of everything, Dean had focused on that.

"Excuse me?" Dean demanded, his suspisions confirmed.

"Dean, c'mon, to how many girls had you said sweet little nothings to get into their pants?"

"Hold on a sec, let me see if I got that straight," Dean seethed, pintching the bridge of his nose, feeling suddenly as if he was rapidly developing a headache. "You thought you were gonna be one more piece of ass to me? Someone I'd fuck and then throw away?" he clarified, dragging the sentence past his teeth so slowly, to the point it took him almost a full minute to get it out of his mouth.

"I... I don't know. It's just-" Sam looked away again, quite obviously dejected, "Look, I know it sounds crazy, but I knew you like the 'Wham, bam, thank-you-ma'am' type. You hadn't been serious about anyone up until then and I-"

Dean wasn't listening anymore. All this... the separation, the uncertainty, the days and weeks and months Dean had angsted -and trembled- for his brother's safety... the heartache he had felt every single day for four years... It was all because Sam had made the assumption that Dean was a creepy, lust-crazed bastard?

"I hate you," Dean cut off Sam's rambling, his voice flat and absolute, "I hate the fact that you ruined the only thing I've ever cared for; _our family_." His eyes turned on Sam, but they were unable to focus, as if Dean had been blinded. He was so utterly angry with Sam that he wasn't seeing him.

"I hate the easiness with which you left me. I hate Stanford and all the little intellectual buddies you made there, who would look at me as if I was a monkey in a lab. I hate Jessica and that you were gonna propose," Dean spat each word along with venom, disgusted with the way his voice cracked as if he was about to cry. His gut clutched viciously inside him, as if to reprimand, to remind him that he had no right to talk about an innocent, dead girl like that.

"I hate that you moped around all these weeks, like you're the only person on the planet that has lost someone. I hate the way you've shut me out, as if you believe I couldn't possibly understand how you feel," he accused again and again, not knowing if he'd be able to stop now that he had gotten the hang of it.

"Stop!" Sam demanded looking as if he was in pain, "You don't know how much it hurts to-"

"I _lost_ you," Dean hollowed in such agony it startled him, "Yes, you didn't die, but that's just worse cause you _chose_ to leave me."

"And you might not remember Mom but I do," he added, unable to contain himself, "And she was much more important than a girlfriend who had no clue who you really are, Sam!" Dean admonished, not even caring that Sam had started to gasp and pant as if he had a hard time breathing.

"Mom was everything to me! And for the last 20 years, I've spend every day wishing I had her back! So don't you _dare_ talk to me about _pain_! Don't you _dare_ tell me I don't know what it feels like!" Dean heaved for breath, as he ran a hand across his face only to get even angrier with Sam when he discovered wetness on it.

"You think I didn't have dreams?" Dean snarled at him, a rush of satisfaction taking him by surprise when Sam cringed at his accusatorial tone, "'Think I didn't wanna go to school, settle somewhere, make a life? I _did_. I had plans, Sam -tons of them!"

Dean paused to take a breath, but it didn't help -his voice came out tired when he continued. "But, unlike your versions of normality, mine _included_ you. I was never able to see myself without you; I didn't _want_ to," he said, averting his gaze to stare hard at the floor.

For a moment, Dean wanted to snatch Sam and just beat the crap out of him. Make him pay physically for all the emotional pain Dean had to endure all those years for him. Then, a thought crossed his mind and, even though the rational part of his brain protested strongly that he wouldn't be able to do that to Sam -he wouldn't be able to bare it, Dean decided there was another way to make Sam pay for everything he had done to him. A much more painful way than via punches and kicks.

"Why now?" Dean asked absentmindly, weels turning in his head, trying to come up with a well-structured plan.

"What?" Sam questioned disoriented.

"You heard me," Dean growled with anger, "Explain to me why you're telling me all this now, but when I wanted you, you bailed."

"That's not fair," Sam protested weakly, "I didn't leave cause I didn't want you. I was young and scared and-"

"What about _me_?" Dean snapped, his temper wearing thin, "I was all mature and tranquil about being in love with my little brother? That's what you think?"

"No, I just-" Sam tried but stopped when he couldn't find the words.

" You just _nothing_," Dean rudely concluded. "Tell me _why_."

"Cause I can't be without you anymore," Sam threw his hands in the air exasperated.

"Boo fuckin' hoo," Dean tossed back. "That's not enough, Sam," he shook his head disappointed.

"Why?" the younger male inquired desperately.

"Cause when _I_ couldn't be without _you_, you left me. That's why," Dean forced out through gritted teeth.

"But it's different now," Sam countered, but to no vail.

"Different, huh?" Dean smirked, a plan forming in his mind. He wanted Sam to show him what he meant; convince him that he'd give up everything to be with Dean. For a moment, he was certain he wanted Sam to hurt. To make him suffer the same -if not more- feelings of rejection, inadequacy, humiliation, Dean had been through when Sam walked away from him.

When your heart breaks it can grow back crooked; it can grow back twisted and gnarled and hard. If Sam thought of Dean as an asshole who only thinks about sex and how to get some... that was exactly what Sam would get. Dean felt something dark and twisted washing over him as Sam's gaze turned from confused to fearful.

"Prove it," he demanded, his voice a guttural sound that made his own skin crawl.


	2. Hold Your Breath For Me

"If an injury has to be done to a man, it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared." Niccolo Machiavelli

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><p>"Prove it, how?" Sam asked hesitantly.<p>

"Suck me off," Dean suggested flatly.

An eerie silence engulfed the brothers, dropping the temperature of the room several degrees. "What?" Sam croaked, eyes wide with shock.

"Are you daft or deaf?" Dean snapped at him.

"I- Dean... I don't think this is a good idea," Sam rationalized, cowering into himself.

Sam looked so young right then, he reminded Dean that lanky boy from four years ago... the one that had ripped Dean's heart off of his chest, threw it onto the mud and then spat and stepped on it.

"I don't give a fuck what you think," Dean informed his brother. "You said you wanted me," he challenged, "Get on the floor and prove it."

"I..." Sam's eyebrows knitted together, as if he was contemplating on Dean's proposition, and, maybe, if he had refused, Dean would have relented.

"O-okay," Sam stuttered. Taking a deep breath, Sam visibly forced himself forward and stepped in front of Dean so they were inches away but not touching. Dean could feel his brother's breath on his face as Sam tried to lean in to brush his lips against Dean's.

Dean's hands grasped Sam's face, gently but firmly, stopping his lips from reaching their intended destination, as he asserted, "No kissing. You don't deserve my kisses yet, Sam. You'll have to _earn_ them. You got that?"

"Yes," Sam ducked his head resigned and Dean almost felt guilty. Almost.

Dean left Sam standing uneasily beside the bed, looking uncertain of what to do, as he aprroached the window and pulled the heavy curtains closed. Satisfied when the room got so dark he could hardly see, Dean walked back, sitting himself at the edge of his bed.

He took his time, unzipping his jeans, lowering them around his thighs and then he freed his cock out of his boxers. He strocked himself to erection, enjoying the way Sam's gaze kept shifting around the confined space, pointently avoiding looking at his older brother's actions.

"Get on your knees," Dean unkindly asked Sam, as his hand reached out to turn on the lamp on top of the nightstand.

Sam gave him an inexpressibly complicated, furious look; by now he knew he couldn't do anything but obey, if he hoped for Dean to forgive him.

Sam positioned himself between Dean's parted legs and fell easily onto his knees in front of him. After that, though, he did nothing; simply stared anxiously at the hard cock in front of his face and breathed, chest moving with the thin, sharp panting.

"Well?" Dean inquired sharply.

Sam flinched, leaning forward. He shut his eyes, then pressed a few reluctant kisses against the head of Dean's dick, apparently working up his nerve.

The sight of Sam's mouth hovering above his cock, and the feeling of those unwilling, humiliated kisses, hardened Dean to full extension. He wondered if Sam could taste his pre-cum yet.

Sam started to lightly press his tongue down Dean's shaft. Then he took a deep breath, and sucked the tip of Dean's cock into his mouth. He clearly had no idea what he was doing; Dean guessed Jessica had done this for Sam a few times. Or maybe random girls all around America while they were growing up had... Dean skittered swiftly away from such unpleasant thoughts and focussed on the feeling on Sam's hot mouth and tongue around him, the sudden flicks of the moist muscle across his shaft.

Dean gasped, blood roaring in his ears at the unexpectedly, unbelievably erotic sight of his brother on his knees before him, Sam's cheeks hollowing now around his cock. The pale, set face, with it's shut eyes looked almost like a reluctant worshipper.

"You like that, Sam? You like the feel of my cock hitting the back of your throat?" Dean asked, gently pressing Sam's head down when the younger man tried to withdraw, probably to answer.

"I used to have dreams about this, you know," Dean laughed, chocking back a small sob, as memories danced behind his closed eyelids. It had never been like this; in his dreams, Sammy was lovingly lapping at his member and Dean would slowly roll his hips thrusting inside that beautiful mouth passionately but not forcefully.

"But you took that away from me, didn't ya Sam?" he accused, hips snapping forward harshly.

He was getting closer now, and Sam looked far too comfortable. Dean held his head, calloused fingers winding themselves roughly in soft brown hair as he began thrusting up hard.

Sam shifted, as if readjusting himself, and Dean bend a little forward, hungry eyes searching Sam's crotch. "You're getting hard," Dean smirked with dark amusement, noticing his brother's prominent bulge. "I bet you're gonna cream your pants the moment I cum in your mouth, Sam," he teased.

Sam made a sound of protest at the back of his throat, that almost tossed Dean's control out the window, and made a movement as if to pull away.

"Oh no, you don't," Dean scolded, gripping Sam's head tightly, effectively holding him in place. He began to thrust harder at the sight of Sam's tearing eyes, the sound of his desperate breaths as he strove to breathe around Dean's thick cock.

"You're gonna swallow like a good little slut for me," Dean instructed, the feeling of Sam's throat clenching around him as he fucked his brother's mouth becoming almost too much. "You said you wanted me, Sam," he reminded him.

Dean shut his eyes, his body stiffening as he kept fucking into Sam's mouth.

Resentment filled his gut; for himself, for Sam, for what he was currently doing to the only person he had ever loved in his life.

Suddenly Dean was cuming, and it was just too much. He didn't want to see it; he didn't want to know. He reached out and turned the lamp on the nightstand off.

But the darkness didn't help. Dean couldn't bear it. Sam's tears were falling onto his thighs, his own tears were running down his face and Dean couldn't turn off his body's nerves in order to not feel any of it.

"Oh, yeah, take it. Take it, you little bitch," he rasped anyway, way too deep into his own game to stop, even though all he wanted was to apologise. Sam didn't deserve to be treated like this. He wanted to raise Sam off the floor, kiss his knees -they had to be sore by now- and make sweet love to him until Dean would feel redempted -if possible.

When Dean finally pulled his now flaccid cock out of Sam's warm cavity, body still fizzing with disgust and pleasure, Sam was swallowing convulsively.

Dean wanted to hold him so badly. He wanted to hug Sam and promise him that everything was going to be okay.

"That was the worst blowjob I've ever had," he barked at Sam instead, both wincing and cheering internally when Sam's shoulders hunched in defeat.

Dean knew he was being cruel, but he couldn't help it. All those years he had spent, pinning after Sam, while his brother had turned his back on him so easily... It had snapped something inside of him. Something he wasn't sure it was going to be mended soon; if ever.

Unable to be in the same room with Sam anymore, Dean tucked himself into his boxers, pulling up his jeans as he stood from the bed. He needed a drive with his Chevy, in order to clear his head.

Looking down, Dean saw that Sam had his hands against his face. He realized the younger man was crying just before Sam spoke.

"Don't leave me," Sam choked out.

"Funny, Sam. That's what I had said," Dean responded cruelly, as he trailed out of the room.


	3. Burn For Me

"When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be." Lao Tzu

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><p>When Dean got back into the motel room, it was four hours later.<p>

Sam was curled up onto his bed, face red and eyes puffy, looking like he had cried himself to sleep. Giving into his brotherly instincts, Dean cautiously eased up next to him, a hand tenderly brushing Sam's bangs away from his forehead. Sam shifted a little into his sleep, nose bumping onto Dean's hand and, as if he recognised the smell of Dean's skin, he nuzzled against it, a small unidentifying sound escaping his lips.

"Sammy?" Dean cooed softly.

"Gim'ie 'ive mor' min'tes," Sam mumbled under his breath, causing Dean to jerk away from him, memories of their childhood too vivid to pass by unacknowledged.

Dean's sudden movement woke Sam up. His gaze scanned around the room before it focused on Dean and his mouth stretched as if to smile up at him, but then Sam obviously remembered what had happened and he scowled, scooting away.

"Get off of me," he snapped at Dean.

Dean's eyes light up with mischief. "That's one fucking brilliant idea, Sam," he approved, voice lacing with lust at the mere thought of it.

"W-what... what do you mean?" Sam inquired, seemingly too disoriented to decide whether to look confused or fearful.

Dean looked around, his gaze landing on one of the chairs around the room's only table. "Sit up, get over there," he jerked his head towards it, delighted when Sam unsteadily complied, a frown knitting his eyebrows.

Dean also got up, almost skipping to his duffle bag, where he fumbled in it's pockets, knowing that somewhere in it there was some rope... "Aha!" he exclaimed triumphantly when he spotted it.

Sam's eyebrows almost joined his hairline when Dean walked to where he was seated, rope in hand.

"What the hell-" he tried to protest and scamper away from his brother.

"Relax, Sam. I'm not even gonna touch you. Just lemme tie you up -it won't be very tightly, I promise," Dean assured him, as he started to wrap the rough material around Sam, and also around and under the chair, to prevent his brother from simply slipping under the bondage.

"Why am I_ letting_ you do this?" Sam asked, so quietly Dean assumed it was a rhetorical question.

"'Cause you're proving yourself to me," he replied anyway, making a knot on the back of the chair.

"Try to stand," he coached, satisfied when Sam did as he was told and almost fell along with the piece of furniture.

"Good. Now wait here," he ordered disappearing into the bathroom.

Once inside the other room, Dean whipped off his shirt and unbuttoned his jeans, pausing for a moment to consider whether or not he wanted to take them all the way off. Deciding it would make it easier to maneuver, he discarded all of his clothes onto the bathroom's floor. After snatching the sample of moisturiser from the sink, he walked as casually as he could back into the main roon clad only in his boxers.

"Dean? What are you doing?" Sam firmly questioned, eyes roaming involuntary up and down his brother's body.

"I'm _getting off_, Sam. You suggested so, remember?" Dean replied confidently causing Sam to gape at him.

Lying onto his bed, Dean started to run his hand all along his chest and abdomen, feeling his warm flesh raising goosebumps in anticipation. He circled nonsense onto his skin, nails lightly scratching against his flexing muscles.

"Mmm, that's good," he said out loud, purely for Sam's benefit.

Glancing at him, he saw that Sam wasn't looking at him. Instead, he was having a staring contest with the floor in front of his feet.

Dean mentally chuckled.

"You know what I'm thinking right now, Sam?" Dean asked, fixing his gaze on his brother, as he traced one finger around his nipple.

"I'm pretending it's _your_ hands touching me." Dean rolled the pink bud gently between his thumb and forefinger, a moan falling from his lips.

Sam's eyebrow twitched.

"You won't believe how many times I've done this thinking nothing but your long, slender fingers on my body. _Everywhere_ on my body," he said, smirking when Sam relented and turned to face him.

Dean trailed a hand up his thigh, brushing past his groin to rest on his abs. He felt them quiver as Sam's breaths increased to a faint panting sound.

"Do you like my body, Sam?" he asked, arousal coursing in his veins, as Sam blushed.

"Yes- I-" Sam shifted, frustrated that he couldn't separate himself from his chair, " Dammit, Dean. I want-"

"I don't care what _you_ want, Sam," Dean cut him off and Sam outright whimpered when his eyes found Dean's raging hard-on.

Dean's erection was painful now and he needed to take matters into his own hands. Literarily.

"Dean, _please_," Sam's voice cracked, and Dean honestly couldn't tell if Sam wanted him to continue or to stop. He ignored him.

Dean's hand slid into his boxers, and quickly pulled himself out of them, wrapping around his hard dick, squeezing it. He narrowed his eyes, looking closer at Sam's face. Sam's high cheek-bones were blushed a bright red. Sam was shaking hard now and Dean greedily watched his violent shivers. He looked so goddamn innocent.

Continuously pumping his dick, Dean watched as Sam's eyes welled up. He had never seen Sam give out so much emotion.

His cock's tip was leaking pre-cum and Dean swirled his thumb around it, to spread the fluid, before sliding his hand down slowly. He moaned in ecstasy as he reached the base and squeezed tightly. He began a steady rhythm, not wanting to go too fast. He wanted this to last for a little while longer. He stroked up and down as he thought of nothing but Sam. Dean wanted him so much, it felt like torture not being able to have him yet. Dean groaned as he began moving faster against his will at the thought of finally being with Sam.

Dean tightened his grip and began to work in firmer strokes. He pictured Sam's naked body under him, Dean pounding his cock into him over and over again as Sam moaned. Momentarily tempted to stop himself from this fantasy, because he knew this would get him over the edge, Dean opened his eyes and searched for Sam's.

Sam was pulling against his bondage, seeming as if he wanted to just break the chair and free himself. Dean shivered at that thought, and he let myself go, working his hand faster and firmer as he felt his release approaching. He was panting and groaning and he let his mind picture Sam, his head thrown back, writhing underneath Dean as he came, his mouth parting, his lips glistening with spit. Sam would scream his name and scratch and claw at his back, his eyes locked with Dean's, pupils dialeted with lust-

Dean was mortified by his own reaction.

Just one last glance in Sam's doe eyes, filled with tears and a gaze that seemed to plead for Dean to untie him, reduced Dean to cum so hard on his abdomen it hurt. So. Bad.

His back collided against the mattress, as his whole body shuttered, orgasm rolling through him like a freight train on a rampage. Adrenaline washed over him, filling him with pleasure, so violently Dean thought he'd shatter.

He wanted to squirm away; It was too grand. Too much. Too fast.

Stimultaneously, he wanted it to never end.

Short of breath, his hips heaved forward, as he bellowed in the silence, his voice echoeing off the dirty walls of the motel, the pained expression on Sam's face the only witness to his shame; his utter lack of control. The strong smell of spunk filled his nose as he jerked again, again, again... his cock splattering his entire upper body with thick, burning-hot ribbons of sperm, causing Dean's insides to ache.

"Sammy!" He sobbed out in the most broken voice.

And then the world went blank, white noise enveloping him, swallowing him whole.

Despite having just spent himself, Dean's body still thrummed with need. He needed more than images. He needed Sam moving under him. Sam moving against him. Him moving in Sam, and every combination in between.

"_Not yet_," a voice he didn't want to recognise as his whispered inside his head. "_Sam's not ready yet_."

After a while Dean straightened, as if coming out of a stupor, with shaky hands and legs, his ears ringing.

His groin felt inflamed as he tucked himself back in his boxers.

"Dean," his brother's broken voice brought him back to reality.

Sam looked as if he was about to pass out, tears rolling down his cheeks, arms helplessly shifting, trying to reach for his...

Oh.

Unable to resist, Dean was in front of his brother in two seconds flat, hands pulling down Sam's sweatpants hastily, not even bothering to cut him loose first.

Sam's moan when he took him into his mouth was by far the sweetest sound Dean had ever heard.

Dean sucked hard, knowing the younger man was very close to bursting his load. After a few moments, he pulled away, relishing at his brother's grunt of protest, as he wrapped his hand around Sam's long cock and proceded to jerk him off.

"Cum for me, Sam; show me what I do to you," Dean right-down ordered, hand speeding it's movements.

Sam groaned his name loudly, spilling his seed all over Dean's hand.

Completely spent and out of breath, Sam leaned forward, resting his body against Dean's as the latter reached behind his brother to finally cut him free.

"You did good, Sam," Dean announced proudly. Sam offered him a half-smile.

"Now there's only one more stage left; the most difficult one. But, if you manage to come through, I'll be irrevocably yours," Dean revealed, watching as Sam's smile vanished and his eyes clouded.


	4. Ache For Me

"There is no lasting hope in violence, only temporary relief from hopelessness." Kingman Brewster, Jr.

* * *

><p>For the life of him, Dean wouldn't be able to describe how the woman he had chosen for stage 3 looked; whether she was a brunette or a redhead (his only care had been to reject any blondes), if her tits were big or small, if her legs were long or short.<p>

All he could see in her face was Sam. How betrayed and desperate and hurt he'd feel, watching Dean fucking her.

Despite his impatience, to get this whole thing over and done with, Dean had waited two days to pick up a random skank and complete Sam's punishment. Mostly because, after stage 2, Sam had looked like he needed some space; some time to take in all that had happened the past few days.

Dean hadn't been picky; he got into the first bar he could find and thirty-five minutes later he left with the slutiest of the girls that had hit on him. One Mandy -or Candy or whatever- who had giggled and batted her eyelashes all the way back to Dean's motel room.

Dean scampered out of the car, the woman following somewhere behind him, eager to see Sam's face when he'd realize what exactly stage 3 was.

When he opened the door to his room, Sam's doe eyes greeted him from behind his laptop's screen, so wide and pretty Dean almost closed the door to the woman's face. But he had gotten this far, and he couldn't back out now.

"Assume the position, Sam," Dean walked towards him, as Sam frowned suspiciously.

When Candy -Dean decided- entered the room, Sam's eyes almost spilled out of their sockets.

"No..." he breathed, his clever mind quickly understanding when Dean was going to do, "Not this..." Sam shook his head unable to believe Dean would do that to him.

"Uh, hi," the woman half-smiled at the younger man, obviously confused, as she extended a hand, which Dean lightly batted away.

"_Don't_ touch him," he reprimanded; the "or else I'll break your arm off" being left unsaid. "Sam's here just to watch," he explained, as if a teacher would've done with a child.

"What? Hey-" she protested only to be shushed at once.

"If you have a problem with that, feel free to leave," Dean said impatiently, "I'll find someone else to..." he trailed off when the woman's lust-filled gaze roamed up and down his body before she nodded her consent.

"Good. Go sit on the bed," he dismissed her, quickly turning to focus on a disturbingly silent Sam.

"What if I deny to sit here and watch while you cheat on me?" Sam forced through greeted teeth.

Dean felt his determination flutter for a moment. Sam had said they were together. "_Not yet,_" the same voice, that was his but-not-really, whispered inside his head. "_You need to show him_."

"There's no other option, Sam," he whispered for only his brother to hear, failing to keep the regret that laced his voice, "It's my way or the highway."

"Dean," Sam almost sobbed out, as his knees gave out and he collapsed on the same chair Dean had tied him to, two days ago. Dean took it as a cue to get the rope.

"I know, Sam. I _know_," he soothed sincerely, as he secured the rough material around his brother.

"Dean, please," Sam stared up at him, eyes already wet, and Dean caved a bit, lowering his head against Sam's, closing his eyes tightly. He wished he hadn't started this. He wished he could somehow take everything back. Alas, he couldn't.

"I _can't_ stop. Not yet," he murmured apologetically, caressing Sam's hair briefly, before he produced a black piece of cloth out of his pocket; a badly shredded piece of his favorite 'Metallica' T-shirt. He wrapped it around Sam's mouth, effectively gagging him.

Extremely reluctant, Dean backed away from his brother and inched towards the woman, who had been watching their interaction curiously the whole time.

She jumped eagerly on her feet, pleased to have his attention again. She had no idea that whether on not she was in the room it didn't mattered to him.

This was all for Sam.

Dean took a deep breath, not even bothering to hide that he was bracing himself, as her hand caressed it's way up his arm.

She moaned out his name seductively, dragging him closer to her for a kiss. Dean kissed her savagely, not really wanting to do it, but knowing he had to. Candy, oblivious to this, wrapped her slender arms around his neck, wanting him, breathing him in. Her hands slid down his body and into his jeans. She grabbed his flaccid, indifferent member and began to stroke it, coaxing it to erection.

Dean mechanically massaged her breasts, rolling them in his palms, goosebumps popping up beneath his touch. He was itching to turn his back at her; lock eyes with his Sammy and just never look away again.

Candy smiled up at him, a gesture that wasn't returned, pulling away from him, as his dick started to grow harder in her hand. She slipped him another seductive smile and licked her lips. She slowly stroked his hardening cock, expertly teasing it, gently touching the tip. Dean allowed her to guided him to sit onto the bed, eager to be face to face with his little brother.

Dean paid no mind when she started to undress the both of them. Except from raising his arms and hips, he made no other move to help her.

Once they were both naked, Candy started pulling at his cock faster, tugging the shaft and massaging it with his pre-cum. She kneeled in front of him and took his dick in her mouth, engulfing his entire member inside her warm orifice. She eagerly began to suck him off, licking the tip and shaft with a gentle tongue.

Dean glanced at his brother and groaned softly noticing Sam's discomfort. Sam seemed determined to keep his eyes closed through the whole ordeal, but Dean knew that he had no way of blocking the woman's obnoxious slurping noises from reaching his ears.

Dean reached for Candy's head and forced her to take him in deeper. She fondled his balls, enjoying Dean's shaking and bucking beneath her touch, ignoring that his need wasn't for her at all.

After a while, Candy eased him out of her mouth, licking her lips, wiping away what pre-cum had leaked from his cock. She reached out and took a condom from the nightstand, teared it open and rolled it securely onto Dean's raging hard-on. Next, she straddled him, lowering herself slowly onto his stiff dick. She threw her head back and moaned, her hair cascading down her back. She began to bounce on him, filling her cunt with his dick with each thrust. Dean grabbed her ass, pounding into her as fast as he could.

Frustrated with their position very soon, as Dean was now unable to see Sam, he threw her off of him and scrambled onto the bed.

She grunted in protest, but Dean paid no attention to her. He sat up, coaching her to take place in front of him on her hands and knees. Dean was now behind her, between her legs and having the perfect view; Sam's beautiful face. Up until that moment, Dean hadn't known it was possible for someone to cry while their eyes were pressed so tightly shut.

Dean forced himself inside Candy again, grabbing her long hair with one hand and her neck with the other. He snapped his hips forwand, her glistening pussy greeting him. Dean's punishing shoves lasted for a couple of minutes, before an idea formed in his mind and he eased his cock out of her again.

Candy whimpered in agony for yet another interruption and shifted to look at him over her shoulder. With fear in her eyes, she realized what he was about to do.

Dean stroked his clothed cock softly, letting her juices coat his fingers. Then he slowly inserted one of them into Candy's ass. Despite her initial protest, the woman's mouth formed an 'o' as she moaned to the intruision. Once her inner muscles had somewhat relaxed, Dean inserted another finger and started to scissor her.

Four fingers later, Dean positioned himself agaisnt her and roughly slid his cock into her gaping hole. Her eyes rolled back in ecstasy, as he pumped into her, shallowly at first. A loud grunt escaped her lips and Dean panted as he started to thrust his thick cock into her with more vigor. He growled as he shoved his dick deeper and deeper into her tight ass, grabbing onto Candy's hips and pounding her. She cried out, biting her lower lip, her entire body shaking from both pain and pleasure.

Content with his rhythm, Dean raised his head to focus his gaze on Sam. Sam had obviously make the mistake to open his eyes when the woman had screamed. He was now shifting left and right onto the chair, half seeming as if he wanted to look away, half seeming as if he wanted to take the woman's place. Wanting to entice his brother more, Dean drove himself even deeper, causing Candy to call out...

"Oh yeah, oh please! Fuck me harder!" she moaned loudly, shoving her body against Dean, sweat glistening onto her skin from the effort.

Dean grunted as he went harder and faster.

"Oh god, yes, YES!" she shouted at him. "Fuck me, fuck my ass! Do me harder!" A few moments went by and she began to lose it. Dean grunted as he rode her, slapping her ass. Candy grunted in tune with him, meeting his thrusts with her own.

"Fuck me. Fuck me! Oh god..." she panted heavily, her breasts heaving with each breath. Dean's shoves became eratic as she tried to somehow pull him closer with her legs, squeezing his sides tightly. She arched her back and climaxed, just as Dean spilled into the condom, biting on his lower lip, to avoid crying out Sam's name.

While he hadn't helped her out of her dress, Dean insistently tried to get her back into it as fast as possible. No more than six minutes later and he had thrusted her purse into her hands and all but shoved her out of the room.

Quietly, Dean pulled his boxers and some sweatpants on and hesitantly walked to his brother's side. Sam had his eyes closed again, face fallen forward onto his chest, shoulders shaking, but no sound was coming out of him, so Dean couldn't tell if he was crying or not.

"Are you okay?" Dean murmured, tenderly removing gag and bondage.

"Don't _touch_ me," Sam hissed, when Dean attempted to rub comforting circles against his back. "Don't-" Sam raised his head, took one look at him and... "God, I'm gonna throw up," he muttered disgusted, running straight into the bathroom and making true to his words.

Dean found him mere seconds later, leaning against the white toilet basin, coughing violently and heaving for breath. "You motherfucking asshole!" Sam snarled at him, the minute his peripheral vision perceived Dean's presence. "How could you _do_ that to me?" he demanded, avoiding Dean's worried gaze; broken, wracking sobs escaped Sam's lips, causing his body to tremble.

"The same way _you_ could do it to _me_, Sam," Dean replied.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam yelled, voice sounding hoarse, as his throat must've been sore, "I never did anything like that to you! I'd never-"

Dean cut him off, knowing his brother was going to lie if he was to continue that sentence. "The first two years you were gone, I was at Palo Alto every other week, Sam," Dean confessed. "I was _there_ the day you met Jessica," Dean revealed, eyes darkening in the reminder of Sam's betrayal.


	5. Suffer For Me

"He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you." Friedrich Nietzsche

* * *

><p>"You were spying on me?" Sam yelled, managing to look intiminating even though he was still huging the toilet's basin.<p>

"No," Dean denied, "I just- I was missing you, Sam. I- I just wanted to_ see_ you..."

"Bull," Sam narrowed his eyes suspiciously, "You just didn't believe I could make it on my own. Like Dad; you never trusted me to-"

"Hey! No, okay? No!" Dean cut him off, "Of course I trust _you_. It's everyone else I had doubts about. I just wanted to make sure you weren't having troubles like in high school..." Dean trailed off as Sam raised his hands exasperated.

"Man, get over that already! It was one time, and it happened a million years ago!" Sam said.

"Dude, you let that kid beat you up," Dean shook his head as if the mere concept was ridiculous, "even though you could've handled him with both your arms tied behind your back!"

Sam huffed. "We've talked about this. I wanted-"

"Yeah, yeah, you wanted to be _normal_. Well to me, normal is making sure my brother is alright," Dean replied indignantly.

"Fine," Sam relented, straightening up to lean on the cold tiled wall behing him, "So... You came to Palo Alto. Then what?"

Dean averted his gaze, suddenly very interested about the patterns on the tiles that adorned the floor. "At first, you were all classes and back to your dorm; my little geek spending every day in the campus's library and lovin' every minute of it..." Dean laughed fondly.

"Old habits die hard," Sam defended.

"No, yeah I know," Dean nodded, "I don't mean you weren't popular," he sniggered, "_especially_ with the ladies. And sure you talked to a lot of people; you just never got close to them."

"It was hard to believe I was gonna stay there for _years_; I was so used to moving around all the time..." Sam waved as if it didn't matter anymore and then gestured for Dean to continue.

"Well..." Dean started again akwardly, "You didn't seem very happy; sometimes you'd be reading a book somewhere in the campus and you'd get this... far-off look on your face... And I remember wondering if you were thinking about me as much as I was thinking about you," Dean explained lamely and Sam remained silent knowing that Dean just had to get certain things out of him.

"Every time I was like: hey, tomorrow I'm gonna go to him. I'mma do something to make things _right_ again," Dean's shoulders crouched as he continued, "I wanted to tell you that it didn't matter if you didn't want me... you know, like _that_. I could live with that; I just wanted us to be brothers again," Dean's voice cracked a bit and he coughed to compose himself.

Dean was so into his own story-telling he was startled when a hand -not so gently- grabbed his arm. "What are you doin'?" he asked as Sam maneuvered him towards the shower stall.

"You smell like..." Sam visibly had to force himself to swallow, "Like that _whore_," he spat. "Get in," he demanded and, without even waiting for an answer, he reached to absolve Dean from his sweatpants and boxers, before he pushed Dean under the shower spray and opened the faucet.

"Sam? I-" Dean tried but Sam cut him off.

"Shut. Up." Sam glared at him, turning and grabbing a washcloth and a bar of soap from the sink, roughly rubbing them against one another before he placed them on the ledge. He reached for the shampoo bottle instead. "You were saying?" he asked patronisingly when Dean just stood there, staring at him, bliking water out of his eyes.

"I..." Dean wasn't sure about the whole bathing him thing, but he knew it was better than Sam beating the smell off of him, "So yeah, I wanted to come to you," he said, easily falling back into his memories, "but I was... I was s-scared," he stuttered sounding ashamed, "that you'd be disgusted by me; that you'd yell at me to leave and that you never wanted to see me again; you know, for being sick in the head," Dean winced as Sam's hands were running roughly over his head, spreading the shampoo on his hair.

"Anyway," Dean closed his eyes, as suds were trailing down his face, since Sam wasn't particularly careful, "time was passing by and I was torn; I had no idea what to do. But you didn't look so well either; rarely getting out, always with a book in your hands, smiles forced and tight..." Sam ignored him, but his fingers started to dig deeper, nails not-so-gently scratching against Dean's scalp.

"And then... just as I was about to suck it up and talk to you... you met Jessica," Dean murmured the last part quietly, but not spitefully.

Sam's fingers froze for a few seconds, before he continued with his task as if he had never stopped.

"She changed everything," Dean admitted, something achingly similar to awe in his voice, "you were laughing again; you were smiling genuinely... all teeth and dimples and I-" Dean's mouth filled with water and suds, before he had the sense to spit and close it, as Sam tilted his head forward, beneath the water, rinsing his hair the same way he had washed them -roughly.

"A little 'heads up' would have been nice," Dean coughed out, when Sam grabbed his neck and straightened him back. He flinched, when he realized he didn't know whether he was talking about the sudden rinse or Jessica.

Dean felt the washcolth on his back, Sam pressing it against his skin in firm circles, massaging sore and knotted muscles with unceunnecessary force -and maybe some scratches too; so Dean didn't say anything abou it.

"She was very pretty," Dean revealed knowing that the word wasn't enough. Jessica was beautiful. But he couldn't say that to Sam; he couldn't confess all these -crazy- moments he had thought that if he had been a perky, blonde chick everything would have taken a _different_ turn.

"It was like she awakened you -or some poetical shit like that," Dean gasped as Sam -silent as ever- started washing his chest with vigor, rough cloth unrelenting against his tender skin. Sam paid no attention at Dean's hisses as he finished washing his torso and then re-soaped the washcloth and continued his way down Dean's body.

Sam bent a bit forward as he washed Dean's groin -hand working gentler than it did with the rest of Dean. He wrapped his hand around Dean's dick, the cloth separating them, and -Dean would bet that was just to tease him- stroked slow and loose up and down the half-erect shaft a few times. Dean sucked in a breath, his back arching, a confused whimper escaping his lips as he exhaled.

Sam ignored him, traveling lower, using hard circles again with the soft skin at the creases of Dean's inner thighs. Dean again didn't react, knowing he deserved the harsh treatment.

Sam then squated behind him, to wash the rest of him, cruelly kneading the flesh of Dean's ass, slipping the washcloth into the soft fold beneath the swell of his butt and the top of his hamstrings. Then Sam spreaded his butcheeks and ran the cloth in Dean's crack once -persistently and harshly; as if to remind him what he had done.

Suddenly, Dean felt too exposed -and he was certain it had nothing to do with his nudity. Everything he had put Sam through the past few days finally registered in his brain and he inched his upper body a bit forward, thankful that the spray of the water would rinse any evidence of his weakness away.

He didn't want Sam to see him like this. Jess had always seemed so confident and strong -upbeat and graceful and so many other things Dean couldn't list right then. And maybe _that_ was why Sam had been attracted to her and- Dean was doing it _again_... He was comparing himself to her again, thinking that maybe, if he had been a bit more like Jessica, Sam would have accepted him when he had confessed his feelings. But that was just wistful thinking.

By the time Dean came out of his stupor, Sam had washed the back of his thighs, scrubbed his kneecaps, run the washcloth over his shins and massaged his calves with it. Finally done, Sam stood and pushed Dean forward and they both just let the water run down his body.

Tired... wanting his brother to take control, because honestly Dean had no idea how to fix things by that point, Dean didn't move when he was rinsed; not until Sam pulled him back from beneath the water. He reached past Dean and turned the water off and they both just stood there, wet (Sam's clothes clinching to his body) and wide-eyed.

Sam dried him off, without the vengeance with which he had washed him and then he dressed Dean in a fresh pair of boxers and sweatpants.

Sam sat Dean onto his own bed, making a point to walk a very large circle around Dean's bed, and then Sam grabbed a chair and sat in front of him.

For a few minutes Sam studied Dean from head to toe, with an almost clinical gaze, as if he was examing him. "Would it have been so hard to tell me all this a few days ago?" Sam asked, his accusatorial eyes pinning Dean down. "When I was _trying_ to have a conversation with you about our feelings I mean," he clarified, a tad sarcastic.

As if just then realizing how atrocious his behaviour had been -to put it mildy- Dean couldn't even get his mouth to function; to tell Sam how sorry he was, how much he wished he could take everything back. All Dean could think of was "not enough, not enough, _not enough_."

Nothing could ever be enough to express his regret. Dean himself wasn't enough for someone like his sweet Sammy. Sam needed someone _else_; someone with less issues, someone not so prone on holding grudges and talking revenges, someone more like pretty, innocent, Jessica, someone more... no, _less_ like Dean.

With that thought in his mind, Dean's respond was cold-hearted and harsh when it finally made it through his teeth, "What did you expect, Sam? You come and tell me you can't live without me and I'm supposed to forgive and forget and accept you? Doesn't work like that, Sam," he sneered, heart breaking but knowing he was doing the right thing. Sam didn't deserve putting up with him. Dean was sick and twisted and dark and... _nothing_; he was nothing compared to Sam.

Sam huffed. "I know. You've said that already. I know I screwed up; that I don't deserve a chance and blah, blah, _blah_," he waved a hand as if to dismiss all that. "But no," Sam continued, voice sobered, "I didn't say 'I can't live without you' - I _can_; I just don't want to."

Sam scootched forward urgently and placed a hand on both of Dean's, whom had been squeezing his together onto his lap. "I don't _want_ to," he repeated, his eyes pleading with Dean to do something; to stop playing games.

"Too little, too late, Sam," Dean chocked out, physically straining himself to swallow down the tears that were threatening to flood his whole being.

It _was_, too little, too late. Dean had no idea how to even start redeeming himself; he had no idea if Sam could ever forgive him; he didn't think there was anything he could do that would show how extremelly sorry he was.

"No, it's not!" Sam snapped, a flame burning inside his eyes, "'Cause you love me, I know you do. I _feel_ it," he said, his grib on Dean's hands becoming painful. "And I'm gonna wait; for the moment you'll be able to trust me again. Because you're worth it; and because you're the only one I wanna be with."

Sam's puppy eyes were looking right at him and Dean was feeling dizzy. He didn't know what to say. "Why now?" he asked again, wincing as he remembered how badly that had gone the first time.

"Because..." Sam took a deep breath, his eyes softening, "Because your name was my first word. Because you stayed by my side when I had the chicken pox, even though you ended up getting sick yourself. Because you carved our names side by side onto the only home we ever had. Because I left away from you and the world became empty; nothing mattered cause you weren't there. Because you're everything I've ever wanted to be; smart and brave, selfless and kind, giving and strong -the most wonderful man I've ever known. Because you give me the kind of feeling people write novels about," Sam laughed knowing that last one was sounding a bit girlie. That didn't stop him though.

"Because that's what people do: we leap -and hope to God we can fly; because otherwise, we just drop like rocks, wondering the whole way down... "why in the hell did I jump?" Sam looked up at him, spreading his hands, "So here I am, Dean, falling; and there's only one person in the world that can make me believe I can fly. _You_." He raised a hand, caressing Dean's cheek softly.

Dean leaned into Sam's warm touch, before he jerked away. "How can you possibly trust me after everything I've done, Sam?" he wondered desperately.

Sam bit his lower lip. "You said I bailed on you," he reminded Dean. "Well, Dean, I'm here and I'm fighting and you have to make your choice too. Do you wanna fight for us or do you wanna bail?" he asked, eyes huge and round.

For a long moment, Dean's throat was so constricted with emotion he couldn't answer. Sadly, Sam perceived that as a denial.

"What do _they_ have that I don't, Dean, huh?" he shouted, jerking to a stand. "Do they blow your cock and mind? Do they let you fuck 'em to ecstasy? Is that it?" he demanded, pacing up and down the room, pointing at Dean's bed, where he had fucked Candy, with disgust.

"I can do that," he frowned and Dean's eyes widened. "Let _me_ do that. I'll do whatever you want," Sam whispered, looking... for lack of a gentler word pathetic, and something inside Dean broke. It snapped, like the day Sam had left him, confused and madly in love with a man that didn't return his feelings; but, unlike then, this time Dean felt _free_. Ready to dive, head first, inside this epically twisted love story he wanted to share with his brother.

"I don't want _that_ from you," Dean said soflty, shaking his head.

Sam's determinate gaze faltered, his disappointment apparent as he thought Dean was rejecting him.


	6. Care For Me

"I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love." Mother Teresa

* * *

><p>"You don't want me anymore?" Sam was looking like someone had just kicked his puppy.<p>

Dean's eyes widened. "No, you dimshit. I meant I don't want you just for sex," Dean explained and Sam tilted his head as if that didn't make sense.

So, yeah, okay, clearly they had to work on this whole _communication_ thing. A lot.

But that could wait.

"C'mere," Dean asked, shifting to rest his back against the bedboard, as he spread his legs on the bed to create a space between them where he padded his hand gently.

"Why?" Sam hesitantly eliminated the distance that separated him from Dean's bed, carefully sitting at the edge of it.

"'Cause I wanna hold you, really close and tight," Dean said as he guided Sam furtherly onto the bed, wrapping both hands and legs around his brother, once he had settled Sam where he wanted him. "Kiss you until your lips will learn to only ever accept _my_ mouth," he continued as Sam's stiff posture relaxed and he melted against his brother's tender embrace. "Let me have you, Sammy. Let me love you," he pleaded, breath ghosting against Sam's cheek when the younger man turned slightly on his side to snuggle deeper into Dean. "Let me take care of you like I've never wanted to do for anyone else. Let me forget all those people who weren't you. Let me show you that you're the only one who ever got into my heart. Let me make you mine."

Dean felt wetness, rolling down his chest as he finished his speech. Heart aching, he reached to wipe Sam's tears, fingers and palm caressing his little brother's heated skin. "Don't cry, sweetheart," he soothed, the endearment dropping out of his lips like a snowflake on dry ground.

"I _am_ yours," Sam mouthed the words against Dean's flesh, sounding relieved. "From the moment Dad put me in your arms when I was a baby. I just didn't see it. I'm so sor-ry, Dean," a sob cracked his voice.

"I'm sorry too, baby boy." Dean brushed more tears away talking softly to the younger man, feeling relief as Sam's breathing became easier.

When Sam's crying had subsided, Dean pushed him gently and, holding him at arm's length, he looked at Sam's tear stained face. "This is it, okay? No more messin' around; just you and me."

"You and me," Sam whispered back as if in a trance.

"Dean?" he asked after a few heartbeats of silence.

"What is it, baby?" Dean inquired, hand steadily tracing circles up and down Sam's back.

"Will you _kiss_ me now?" he asked hesitantly.

For a moment, Dean wanted to disappear. All he could think of was that he had done that to Sam; he had made him believe Dean would never give him anything that could classify as sentimental. He didn't know how to express how sorry he was for doing that; couldn't find the correct -enough- words for it.

So, instead, Dean leaned down and finally kissed his Sammy. A kiss slow and sweet and filled with years of a love Dean felt too small to explain. A kiss that seemed to explain all the things Dean couldn't. _This is real. This is us. We belong to each other. I need you to understand that._ All these words were transferred with a simple touch of skin against skin, passing through moist breath and flushed flesh.

And Sam just let himself melt into it._ I know_. Dean eased him down onto the bed. Sam winded his arms around him and... "I love you," he whispered faintly, like it was a secret; like he was afraid that saying it out loud was somehow disgracing Dean. His eyes had welled up again, but the tears didn't pour out this time.

"I love you more," Dean murmured back, feeling as if a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders, as he looked down at Sam, marvelling at how beautiful he was. He slipped down on the bed, stretching beside his brother, and he pulled the bedspread to cover them both as he gathered Sam to him, wrapping his arms around his back and tangling their legs together. Dean dragged tiny, chaste kisses along Sam's collarbone and the side of his neck and quietly promised that he'd always love him, he'd always be there for him and that he'd never hurt him again.

Dean fell asleep with his arms full of Sam, his heart full of love, and his head full of ideas of how to become a man for whom Sam will be proud of.


End file.
